It’s like I’m standing at the bottom of a hole, the shovel in my hands… my grave.

It’s like I’m jumping from an airplane without a parachute… my death.

It’s like I’m hanging from the edge of a mountain… I’m so scared to let go.

What if I fall?

What if I can’t get up?

What if I don’t make it?

It’s so hard just to be okay.

It’s so hard to smile.

They stare,

I swear I’m fine.

I hurt- the throbbing in my chest grows.

The butterflies die and darkness closes in.

Roses wilt and the sun hides away.

In my hole, with the shovel, I stand.

I dig deeper everyday.

I won’t forget.

I won’t let go.

I won’t stop.